


Enough

by Rowena_Hill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Hill/pseuds/Rowena_Hill
Summary: He'd only ever seen her as one specific thing, but a late-night trip into a pensieve changes his perspective and forces him to come to the realization that she means more to him than he'd ever thought.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: Hermione's Haven Roll-A-Drabble





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Roll A Drabble Prompt:
> 
> Supernatural  
> Pensieve  
> First Kiss

She was full of shit.

Dean watched her with hard eyes as she talked, her hands waving around with enthusiasm as she moved through her various stories and explanations like a butterfly. Every so often her hand would disappear down into the bottomless beaded bag that sat on the table, as if she were Mary fucking Poppins, and pull out book after book. Sam ate it up, flipping through the various pages with barely concealed reverence. It was bullshit, all of it. Absolute bullshit.

Shifting in his seat, he stretched his legs out in front of him and picked up his beer bottle to take a sip. It was room temperature and he found himself grimacing at the taste; it didn’t stop him from drinking it, though. He tried not to think about the feel of her eyes on him as he drank or the way her curls fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side. She was prey, he was the predator, or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself as he tried to swallow a belch. The fact that she’d saved their asses more than once was neither here nor there. The fact that he had a hard time not staring at  _ her _ ass meant nothing either.

*

A few weeks later saw him staring at her in the murky dark of their shared motel room, his gun gripped tight in his hand as his finger hovered over the trigger. There was nothing there, no one lurking in the corners, just the two of them. Her back was ramrod straight as she sat up in her bed, the sheets tangled around her torso as her body shook. Even in the dark he could see the sweat and tears on her skin and somehow that seemed to tighten the tension in his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked as he clicked the safety and slipped the gun back into the waistband of his jeans.

His voice startled her and she jerked her head in his direction to fix him with her wide-eyed stare. “Fine,” she said as she forced a smile. “Just a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dean regarded her for a moment and he swore that he heard her mutter something under her breath about forgetting a silencing spell. His brow furrowed. Just how many times had she woken up screaming like that without either him or Sammy noticing?

“What happened?”

For a long time, she just sat there, silently staring at him as her hands twitched in her lap. She seemed to be debating with herself and her brow furrowed. “It was just a nightmare,” she repeated.

“Bullshit,” he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tops of his thighs. “People don’t wake up like that after a run of the mill nightmare. So what happened?”

A look of resignation fell over her face like a mask and he found that it frightened him. She’d been through a war, he knew that from her stories and what Sammy had enthusiastically read to him from her books, but there was always something that seemed to be left unsaid. Little details that conveniently fell into the cracks of her narrative. He knew because he was the master of that kind of storytelling; some things needed to stay in Hell.

Her movements were jerky as she pulled herself up from the nest of bedding and shuffled across the room to pick up her little bag. He was no longer surprised at what she managed to pull out of the thing, so when she set an intricately carved stone bowl on the rickety coffee table in front of him he didn’t even bat an eye. Even her magic no longer made him flinch and his eyes followed the movement of her wand as it came up to rest against her temple only to pull away a moment later dragging a thin silvery wisp with it.

“You don’t have to hold your breath,” she said as she dropped the strand in the bowl where it swirled into a viscous liquid. “I do though. Somehow it makes jumping in a bit easier.”

*

The motel room was still dark, the red neon light from the vacancy sign filtering in through the crack in the dingy curtains. He paced the room, his hands scrubbing at his face; his skin felt clammy and he needed a shave. She hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch, her hand in front of her mouth as she worried at the side of her thumbnail. Dean had seen a lot of fucked up shit, he’d done a lot of fucked up shit, but seeing  _ her _ in the middle of fucked up shit made him feel ill. It made him angry and the impulse to shoot something just to shoot it was becoming hard to ignore.

“I’m alright,” she said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts as he turned to look at her. She looked so small sitting there, so fragile, but the truth was that she was anything but. “As much as I can be.”

“Christ, Hermione,” he said finally, his hands resting on his hips as he let out a shaky breath. “She’s dead, right?”

The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. “As a doornail.”

Dean nodded to himself to push back his bubbling disappointment. Maybe it was a small mercy, he thought then. He didn’t want to be that man, the one that had been created in Hell, but the scary truth of it was that he would for  _ her _ . He’d dig deep down inside himself and pull that man back to the surface if someone ever hurt her again. 

She stood from the couch and slowly made her way to him, her shoulders hunched as wrapped her arms around herself. Her cardigan was still on the corner of her bed, he noted, and her tee-shirt was over large and worn thin. He should have put a blanket around her or something, that’s what Sammy would have done, but he didn’t. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, his body moving towards hers out of pure instinct. Her body seemed to meld against his, her muscles relaxing under his touch as his hands moved down her back and over her arms, the little tremors slowly tapering off.

“No one gets to hurt you,” he whispered into her mass of curls. She smelled like lavender and the leather seats of his car; he wanted to drown in the scent. “I won’t let it happen.”

“Not even you?” she asked and he could feel her lips moving through the material of his shirt.

Dean screwed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching briefly as he kept his hold on her. What could he say to that, he wondered, how could he apologize for the sheer volume of his antagonism towards her. “Not anymore,” he replied and he felt her let out a breath.

Pulling back, his hands came up to cradle the sides of her face before tilting her head back to look up at him. It should have been a crime for someone to have eyes like hers, wide and deep brown, he swore that she could see straight into his soul. Maybe she could, and maybe he wanted her to. Maybe they both needed to be laid bare before each other to finally come to some sort of understanding.

His lips brushed against hers before he could even fully register what he was doing and they both froze. She was going to run he thought, and he’d let her. It occurred to him then that if she did he’d run after her, that he needed her knowing stare and the floral scent that clung to her curls and the way she seemed to know everything like some sort of goddamn encyclopedia.

Hermione shifted against him, pushing up onto her tiptoes to press her lips to his. It pulled him from his thoughts and back down to her as he kissed her back. Their movements were slow, languid, as they just  _ felt _ each other. There was no real desperation, no frenzied tearing off of clothes, that could wait. It was just his lips on hers and it was enough.


End file.
